


Rackham in New York City

by Ithika



Category: Black Sails, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithika/pseuds/Ithika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian "Hook" Jones needed to make it to the land without magic, and fast.  Of course, with something of value to trade, ways and means are open to wily negotiators.  However as Hook well knows, pirates are a dangerous lot, and Charles Vane is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like this fic any more but I hate deleting stuff. I would say I'd rewrite it, but I really don't care for Once Upon A Time At All?
> 
> After Once Upon A Time's season 3 finale, when Hook ran into Blackbeard, it opened a wonderful world of opportunity wherein our favourite Once pirate could legitimately and without too much trouble have ran into all of my favourite historic pirates. This fic is a thing of whimsy, a fusion of Once Upon A Time, Black Sails, and a smattering of greatly stretched pirate history - because Mary Reid isn't the kind of person to just not include. 
> 
> Spoiler warnings for Once Upon A Time Season 3, Black Sails Season 1 and Golden Age of Piracy... history... spoilers. Is that a thing?
> 
> If I can keep the enthusiasm train going, I have sketched out the plot all the way up to Hook's adventures in New York City. The title is inspired by a poster seen in Emma's apartment at the end of Season 3 - no doubt because Rackham was famous for his jolly roger, and Hook's ship is, well, the Jolly Roger. Calico Jack himself, however, does not yet look likely to feature.
> 
> I could REALLY edit this more, but I wanted to stop procrastinating and post something. Come forth with your critiques, and don't pull the punches!

She was such a beauty, and she’d brought him so much joy for such a long time.  Running his hand slowly over her familiar curves, that old lover’s caress didn’t bring him the joy it once did.  He felt nothing, less than nothing, even though she gleamed as bright as the day he first set eyes on her, so many years ago;  her wheel newly polished, sails fresh and sea-foam white, no line out of place on deck.  Killian was empty.  The flame of his vengeance had finally burned itself out, and in its place there was a charred hole where he knew a life should have been.  A handful of lives, hundreds of years wasted revelling in hatred and hurt weighed on his mind, ever since his return from Storybrooke.  Ever since Swan had somehow made him think that maybe he could know something different.  

He’d tried so hard to return to his old ways, after returning to this land.  But even with all his practiced bravado, the crew was starting to mutter behind their hands, thinking he didn’t hear their whispers.  Hook had gone soft, they muttered, an echo of the late Blackbeard’s taunt.  Well, every indication Killian could see told him they were right.  The whispers started after their first dalliance with his old prey - a fat merchantman, heavy with cargo and positively wallowing her way through the waves.  She’d struck her colours the moment he’d hoisted his, much to his secret relief, and the boys had immediately begun to transfer goods from the tea clipper to the _Jolly Roger._

Where he’d come apart was when he’d stepped on deck to deliver his usual talk - join us and live the free life of a pirate, or walk the bloody plank.  The Bosun knew him from some long-past grievance, an old done man by all accounts, but he took up arms and lunged at the captain anyway.  Hook had danced easily out of the way of the dive, of course, but his next move started the whispers - when the man turned back to him, sword at the ready, the pirate captain struck him on the head with the flat of the blade and bade his crew leave the tea clipper’s inhabitants unsullied, and the vessel’s rudder chain intact.  He took her canon, of course, but his blatant disregard for his old promise of no quarter and no mercy did not go unnoticed.  Even Smee dared look at him askance as he'd left the _Wager_ ’s deck that day. 

But the blood-lust had gone out of him entirely.  He’d had only a moment’s satisfaction after giving Blackbeard his just punishment for stealing his ship before the guilt had come rushing in, threatening to drown him.  Even rum - and a liberal dousing of it, to be sure - had failed to raze the burning shame from him.  "Bad form, Killian,” he muttered for the umpteenth time, releasing the wheel and heading for the bowsprit.  In his two-handed days, so long ago, he’d climbed up to the main-royal yard to get his silence, and to think.  It had been a long time since he’d been able to make that climb, and he’d found a place amongst the headsails that was almost as good, and his reputation amongst his crew still ensured solitude, when he wanted it.  There were no dolphins dancing before the bow today, but there was something quite strange approaching - a dove, burdened with something, labouring in the sea breeze.  Flying straight for him, he realised, with precision that surely meant the bird was charmed.  

The exhausted little thing near collapsed onto his hand when he reached out for it, so urgently had it flown to him.  Carrying the bird to the _Jolly Roger’s_  pigeon loft for a well-earned rest, the captain stole into his cabin as stealthily as he was able to read the message more thoroughly.  Swan needed help, the writer begged.  Needed him - and with the knowledge came the tickling kindling of a new flame within his breast.  “Emma."

* * *

It felt to Killian like he spent days reclined in that chair, legs on the desk, staring at the ceiling of his cabin.  Once, the _Jolly Roger_  had been everything to him, everything he clung to, every splintered piece of his old and weary heart.  But now she was just timber and tar, sails and salt water.  He knew where he had to go to get what he needed, who he needed to see, and sure as anything he knew he’d need every last whit of his dastardly reputation to achieve it. 

Game face firmly in place, he sauntered out and up to the helm.  “Mr Smee,” he growled, as always causing the portly man to flinch, “we have a heading.  Gather the men, I want all hands.”  Taking the wheel once more, he barely acknowledged his quartermaster as they switched places.  The charade started now, and it was easy to treat Smee with disdain - the man had been a near constant disappointment for many, many years.  Still, the task of gathering the crew lay well within the man’s meagre talents, and before long, they were assembled to hear their Captain and cast their vote on his proposed destination.  

“Too long we’ve dwelled in this land of lickspittles and cowards!  Landlubbers and cowardly braggarts!”  He paused to grin at his crew, gesturing expansively with his hook as he held the _Jolly Roger_  steady with his good hand.  “It’s been too long since I drank among brothers, united under the crimson flag!  Too long since we’ve had access to the rich rewards of _real_  ships to plunder!” Boastful talk of hunting had never failed to rouse this or any other pirate crew, and at that, and every eye was fixed on him.  “I say we return to the land of Nassau, and reunite with our allies there!  Captain Vane offered me an equal share in his fleet once, and I mean to take it.”  A slightly less enthusiastic quiet followed this, for though the _Jolly Roger_  herself was feared, Vane’s men struck fear even into the hearts of their fellow buccaneers.  He grew still and serious then, locking eyes with many of his crew, blue-eyed gaze a challenge to courage as much as it was entreaty.  “An alliance with the _Ranger_ will make us all rich men.  What say you?  Shall we sail to glory, or stay here and prey ever on poor sloops and royal carriages?”  

It took a moment, but “Ayes” rippled their way through the crew until they were one, united behind their long beloved Captain, the rowdy lot of them cheering his name and forgetting any nagging thoughts of the _Ranger’s_  own leader.  Killian grinned and adjusted the ship’s heading, giving the men a moment before a nod to the Quartermaster sent them all scurrying back to their positions.  

As he suspected, it didn’t take Smee long to materialise once more at his side, anxiety writ large upon his open face.  “Captain, meaning no disrespect, of course, but not all the men have sailed with you as long as I.  I still remember, though.”  Killian glared, but to his surprise Smee continued, “You refused Vane’s offer previously because you said you could never trust the man to keep his sword out of your back.  What’s changed?”

The glare deepened, muscles twitching in the captain’s jaw as he ground his teeth at the man’s unprecedented gall. “With greater risk comes greater reward, Mr Smee.  I believe Vane will ally with me because he wants more, he’s ambitious.  He and his men are safe in their holdfast now, but he lacks the steel to both repel the crown’s Men-of-war and hold the island.  Together, the _Roger_ and the  _Ranger_ could take such a vessel and become invincible.”  The lie sounded fanciful and wooden even as it left his tongue, but Smee’s eyes were alight.

“Aye, with a Man o’ War and Nassau’s fortifications, we need not fear the noose any longer. A fine plan, and advantageous to all.” Resisting the urge to roll his eyes was hard for Hook, but he managed.  A single warship and fortress would not hold off the Royal Navy for long, and Vane could be trusted about as far as he could be thrown, Hook knew.  But all he had to do was treat with him alone. 

It took them only twenty days to reach Nassau, by all accounts a voyage far swifter than any normal ship could make.  The _Jolly Roger’s_  enchanted timbers had always responded sweetly to Killian’s ministrations, and even now, this last time, she had not failed him.  Still, the length of the voyage had left the captain’s stomach in knots.   _Twenty days here, and how many more before Vane will deign to treat with me?_ He had no idea what trouble Emma’s family was in - the note had not illuminated any specifics - but he was sure that any power which could restore them all to Storybrooke was dire indeed. 

“Vane’s sent a lad to welcome us, Captain.”  Killian immediately raised a hook to silence Smee before he could say any more, for he’d heard the derision in his tone.  

“Mind your manners, Mr Smee, that _lad_ looks fixing to gut you for your lack of respect.”  Raising his voice, he called out to the apparent youth waiting by the larboard gangway.  “Reid, so good to see you.  Welcome once again aboard the _Jolly Roger._ ” His most dazzling smile appeared appropriate as he crossed the quarter deck, jumping down to meet her.  The lass did a fine job of dressing as a man, to be sure, and Hook didn’t feel it was his place to reveal her secret, should she want it kept so.  “Come to my cabin, we’ll share a cask of liquor from the Enchanted Forest.  I don’t know what they do to the sugar cane there, but the rum can really put you on your arse.” Mary fell in step beside him, silent as she often was, until they reached the cabin.

“Why are you back, Hook?” Her voice was gruff for that of a woman, dried by years of sun and sea and likely many and varied leaves.  Her eyes assessed and dismissed him in a moment from beneath her short-shawn fringe as she glared at him.  “Vane’s not happy you’re back, you know.  He didn’t take your rejection of his last offer well.”  A smirk, and her voice softened as she turned to lazily assess the cabin, "He never does.”  

Hook smiled and spread his arms wide, gesturing to a seat as he procured some drink for pouring.  “As it happens, I think I have an offer that will help him to forget my last rejection, stung though he must be.”  

Reid grunted and took a pull of the imported drop, hissing at its potency.  “Well, you were right about this Enchanted Forest rag water, but I hope you plan to offer him more than that.  Stung doesn’t quite quantify his feelings about what he sees as your betrayal.”

Hook swallowed his misgivings along with his whole brusher of drink.  “Don’t worry, Mary, I don’t expect dear Charlie to honour his offer of partnership after all this time.  You know me, I’m not the sharing type.”  

She grunted in agreement as he lazily stretched his legs onto the table, “Nor is he.  Enough small talk, Killian, what do you want?”  

The one-handed pirate gestured lazily with his hook.  “I grow bored of these waters and long for far-off shores.  Charles has the means to make that voyage, gained in some doubtless foul bargain years ago.” 

Reid’s pale lips drew into a thinner line.  “I don’t know how you learned of the bean, but he will not trade it with you.  He’d want everything.  I don’t think you’d be willing to pay his price, Hook.”  

It was Killian’s turn to turn serious, and all mirth left his eyes as he asked, “Will he see me, or will he kill me?  I’ll be the judge of the fairness of Vane’s prices.”  

Reid poured herself another nip of rum before standing to go, meeting his eyes again after downing the harsh drink.  “He’ll see you, Hook.  But don’t expect any trace of your former camaraderie to remain.” She’d made it halfway to the door before turning to face him once more, looking the other pirate over with a softer eye than before.  “Rumour is that you’ve gone soft, Hook.  That won’t sit well with Vane.”

“I killed Blackbeard, just the other day, mate.  Let any coward tell their slander to my face.”  

Mary removed her hat as she turned to face him, messily-cropped black locks spilling from their constraints, her expression positively salacious, and plainly alarming.   “True, true.  But there’s rumour you’ve grown bored of whores and dice, weary of killing.  That’s not the man I remember, but I wonder.”  

Killian’s unerring confidence faltered, and he muttered through gritted teeth, “I’m a refined man; I simply grew weary of whores and their empty comforts.”  This entirely unprecedented statement allowed a flicker of surprise to ripple across Reid’s normally inscrutable features, the shock followed on its heels by a small, knowing grin. 

“It’s a woman, isn’t it?  You’ve met a woman, and she’s changed you.”  

“And how do you figure that, lass?”  Killian slowly moved his sword arm to be within better reach of his weapon, suddenly unsure of what to do.  

“Last we met, you’d never have turned down such an obvious invitation.  Today, you barely recognised I was making one.”  She smirked, a hand on her hip.  “I can’t say the change isn’t a welcome one, Captain.  Nassau’s full enough with lecherous captains already, she won’t miss it, and nor shall I.  I hope she brings you joy, Jones.  There’s little enough of that for the likes of us.”  She started to unceremoniously stuff her flyaway hair back into the depths of her hat, and her voice regained the practiced timbre that was her usual custom once more.  “I can’t say it would go well for you if Charles were to discover your secret, mind.”  And with that, she was gone.  Hook let a long, slow breath hiss out from between his teeth.  Mary had ever been enigmatic, and had travelled extensively enough - somehow - that Killian had seen her several times since his last sojourn in the pirate haven.  But she had never been known to him as much trouble - for the most part honest amongst rogues and good for her word, beyond her great disguise, she was more or less trustworthy - and he admitted to himself that he’d let his guard down around her, underestimated her, and he’d given the game away.  He would need to be far more on his game to treat with Vane, he knew. 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy with this chapter, but I thought I'd post it anyway. Vane is hard to write, but here he is!

Unsurprisingly, the crew did not take long to complete their duties and dissolve into Nassau’s various houses of entertainment.  The Captain had lingered, as he often did, checking above and below decks for any slapdash work aboard his beloved ship.  This time, though, it was also a farewell, a letting go.  His hand caressed the helm as it so often had, smooth grain silken beneath his calloused fingers.  At least he knew she would be in good hands; as fearsome as Vane’s reputation was, his respect for his ships - all proudly named  _Ranger -_ was indisputable.   He took his time, though he found nothing out of place, and even though his heart ached at the thought of leaving her, his resolution didn’t waver for a moment. His life lacked a different ‘she,’ and the only way to get to her was to let his faithful old lass go.    

 

Nassau hadn’t changed much since Hook’s last visit, a brief sojourn required by Pan some ten years ago.  A ramshackle hive of unscrupulous men and women, grown larger since his last visit, and if possible more unruly.  Vane hadn’t been in power when last Hook had visited, though the younger man had not been short of either vision nor ambition, to say nothing of the requisite ruthlessness.  The two had gotten on quite well, men with nothing to lose and all to gain.  Killian didn’t expect that Charles would have softened at all over time, however, and the idea of that proud man taking kindly to the _Roger_ ’s captain refusing his offer of partnership was beyond laughable.  Hook only hoped that the man would be willing to parley with him, and wouldn’t name a price in blood for the old slight, no matter Reid’s assurances.

Still, the building where Vane had allegedly agreed to meet with Hook was public and - for Nassau - stately, so it seemed for now, at least, the man intended to speak with Killian and not immediately have him dealt with by some nameless underling.  When last Hook had clapped eyes on Vane, he’d been a young man, just out of his teens, full of anger and hunger.  Dangerous, but no more so than Killian himself.  The man that now reclined in the old armchair before him was the same, but so much more.  Scars served to highlight the hard lines of the his face, stark and pale against his deeply tan skin. Smoke hovered all about him, and although many would take it to mean Vane was not possessed of all his wits, Hook knew better. 

The smoke danced a slightly faster rhythm with the captain’s exhaled breath.  “So it is true.”  The _Ranger_ ’s captain’s voice was low, rumbling from somewhere deep within his chest, as rough as his countenance.  Killian raised an eyebrow in response, pulling a sorry looking chair over with his hook, reclining upon it with as much nonchalance as he could muster.  Vane merely tracked this movement with his eyes, moving not so much as a finger in acknowledgement of the other pirate’s arrival.  His appraisal was as cold and calculating as it might have been when assessing takings - Reid had told it true, that hint of admiration a younger Charles had secretly harboured had surely evaporated.  

“You ought be old by now, but it seems we’re of an age.” Vane finally moved, reaching over to tap some embers from his cigar, readjusting himself to look at Killian face-on. 

Hook grinned - that was exactly what he hoped Vane would be intrigued by.  “Aye.  Tis a wonderful thing, having a vessel like the _Roger_  to carry you between enchanted lands.  That said, Charles, it looks as though time has not been your enemy.”  He gestured loosely about the room.  “Nassau secure under your governance is all you ever dreamed of, if I recall correctly.”  Vane grunted, eyebrows arching to add to his assent as he took another pull of smoke from his cigar.  He’d never been much of a talker, and Killian was only slightly disappointed that the man’s reticence had not eased as he aged.  It was easy to talk circles around people who were too free with their words, but he could tell he wasn’t going to have that opening here.  Instead, he simply stared back across the room at Vane, through the haze of smoke, his hand idly tracing the contours of his hook.  The old pirate could be tight with his words, too, and so he made no mention of his purpose in Nassau, deciding instead to let Vane clear the air.  

“Ten years ago, I made you an offer I’ve not made to any other, before or since.”  Vane exhaled the words, his voice so deep and quiet Killian had to resist the urge to lean forward to better hear the other captain.  "I thought we understood each other then, and I would like to know what you think has changed.” 

Hook weighed his words carefully before speaking.  While many of his fellow pirates derided thoughtfulness as a lack of action, he knew Vane was not such a man, for all his brawn and menace. But too much silence spoke of ill-preparedness, and so Killian fell back on his oldest technique - charm.  Grinning expansively, Killian gestured around the room. "These are fine things you've earned yourself, Charles."  If anything, Vane was stiller than before, the only movement near him the lazy smoke and dull glow of the embers of his cigar. 

"And all of it without your aid, Killian, I do hope you haven't forgotten.” If Vane had been loud when angry as a youth, it seemed that for now at least, the opposite was true as a man.

"No, I haven’t forgotten.”  A moment of foolish, irrational guilt struck Killian then - Charles had not been so much older than Bae when he’d turned his back on his offer, after all.   _I really have gone soft,_ Killian chided himself, _He’s not angry because he needed you, Jones, you dolt, he’s angry because you made him lose face._  “But when you’ve lived as long as I have, Charles, you learn that where mutually beneficial arrangements have been found once, they can be found again.”  Taking a swig from his small silver flask, Hook appraised Vane more thoughtfully.  "How old are you now? Thirty years?"  The relaxation in his tone and posture was all ruse now, and even as he smiled at Vane, Hook was ready to draw his sword or swing his hook at a moment's warning. 

"Thirty-three, as it happens."  The man still looked irritated at best, but there was a question in the phrase, and that was what Hook wanted, and his grin widened.  

“A happy coincidence! I’m thirty-three, same as you.  I’ve a deal more practice at it than you, of course, having been thirty-three for,” he made a show of counting, “nigh on two hundred fifty years, I think.”  

Vane was silent.  Again, silent.  The bloody man could hold his tongue near as well as a dead man, and though Killian had expected it, it was starting to drive him slightly spare.  Slowly, it occurred to him that if he held his quiet too, Vane would be forced to speak eventually.  

“I’m listening, Killian.  You have my attention, but your claim is outlandish.” The hand his chin rested on flicked a couple of fingers to indicate the man before him.  “You look younger than you ought to, it’s true.  But you have no proof that you have enjoyed such unnaturally long life.  Or at least, I’ve yet to see it.”  Killian’s heart sank.  He hadn’t counted on the man being this wily or skeptical - he’d though his obvious agelessness would have been enough.  Hook didn’t let his confident smile falter as he poured them both another draught of whatever ill-made piss it was Vane had brought up from one of Nassau's watering holes.  He made a face after drinking the harsh liquor before producing a small, beautifully crafted bottle from his coat and holding it out to his companion, fingers drumming a lazy tattoo on the glass as he waited for the other captain to take it. 

Vane reached a hand across the table, taking the small bottle of Enchanted Forrest rum, then turning it in his fingers. The glass itself was finely wrought and beautiful: clear as a winter morning, evenly shaped and embellished with graceful etchings that caught even the meagre light in the room, throwing tiny rainbows into Charles' eyes.  “This is a pretty trinket,” he finally grunted after some time, but he made a big show of being disinterested, and put it aside.  

A fresh cigar materialised in Vane’s hand, and as he lit it the brief-lived flash of firelight set his face aglow.  “I’d like to know why you’re really here, Hook.  You dance and hint at your purpose, but I’m not interested in playing games.”  A long pull on the cigar, “But if you expect me to believe you’ve come back here after ten years, you with your reputation, me with mine, after the grievous insult you paid me-” He raised a hand, finger pointed, stopping Killian’s protestations before he could utter a sound.  “Neither one of us are fools, Jones. I have something you want.  Tell me what you’re here for."


End file.
